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~ By Courtesy of Others ~



Even the strongest things can die off
The aurochs once roamed the moors
Tell me then, what shall be our fate?

Better to know your own self true
Than examine another manís faults
Hardest it is to see yourself
And learn the folly of your ways

To deal more with others than with oneself
Is a sign of fear and no worth
Let others weave their own life path
And you should weave your own

Little I care what others think of me
Or heed the foul words they breathe
Much I heed, those things I hear
That my blood-song sings so true

Some have book-lore
They thump on your head
I possess soul-lore
From our honored dead
Blood-song I call it
That elder might
Flowing in my veins
And teaching me right

A luckless man thinks himself more,
Than that which he really is
Bragging and boasting, with no end in sight
But his deeds always prove his worthlessness

A luckless man talks overmuch
And often he gives offense
Unbridled words are his bane
When winter comes upon the land
He finds himself sitting alone
In the harshness outside the hall

Warm is the inyard, and kind are kin
Joyful is the hall, when folk are brought in
Mead-bench matters, they bring us close
Sharing the horn, hearing the boasts
Fire flickers, and moods become great
Heroes are remembered, what of our fate?

Keep your eyes on your house
Inside the fence luck grows
Too much time spent beyond
And your luck will wane
Better it is to hold a few
Tested and trusted true
Than to risk the danger
Found outside the fence
That threatens and fights
Against the frith at home

Share a horn sparingly, and watch well
Those you sit with, at Wyrdís well
Mead-words spoken, lay deep layers
Oft regret comes, to those who were there
Better is caution, when it comes to a horn
With careless words, a great debt is born

© Jeff Wolf


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